


Another Scene

by nectarimperial



Category: Tales of Xillia
Genre: M/M, Spoilers, Tales of Xillia 2 - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-26
Updated: 2014-09-26
Packaged: 2018-02-18 20:31:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2361278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nectarimperial/pseuds/nectarimperial
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When it's difficult to see the path that lies ahead, it's easy to fall back into old habits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another Scene

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not the best at writing, but I have a lot of feelings.

Shoving the younger boy against the doorframe, Alvin realizes they haven’t done this in awhile – not the whole sex part, they’ve definitely done that, but rather these kinds of desperate encounters colored in the myriad of emotions that stem from uncertainty. As much as Jude tries to be calm and rational about every situation, there is always a little part of him that utterly lacks control, and even if Alvin doesn't want to admit it, he lusts for these moments when the other lets his guard down above all else.

“Why did it have to be us?” Jude breathes, calloused hands pushing the blue coat off the man’s body, fidgeting with the knot around his neck as he stands on his tiptoes, kissing at the flesh hiding underneath. His fingers are shaking as they wrap themselves around Alvin’s broad shoulders, tracing patterns along his back.

“I would’ve thought you’d be happy, kid,” he replies, tearing the lab coat and buttoned shirt off, hoisting Jude up and grunting when the boy’s legs wrap around his waist, grip on his torso tightening. Alvin stumbles backward toward the bed in the middle of the inn’s room, collapsing on the mattress and pulling Jude’s lips against his own, tugging desperately at the black undershirt and throwing it haphazardly on the floor.

Straddling the man’s waist, the doctor pulls back and shoves up the hem of Alvin’s fuchsia polo, running his hands over toned abdominal muscles, “Of course I am. She’s back, but that – I mean – our mana destroyed their Milla for ours?” His black lashes flutter over golden eyes, downcast in a quiet dejection. Seizing the temporary lapse in movement, Alvin unbuckles Jude’s grey belt, sliding his pants as far down the other’s legs as they would go in their current position. Jude rolls his eyes, mumbling something incomprehensible before sitting up and removing them the rest of the way, throwing them on ground with force. He sits on the edge of the bed just a second too long, resting his arms against his knees.

“You sure you want to do this?” Alvin asks, propping his body up on his elbows.

The boy sighs, breath ragged and heavy, “Why did it have to be this way?” Alvin sits up the rest of the way, crossing his hands over his torso and yanking off his own shirt, discarding it somewhere in the darkness next to him.

“I can’t answer that,” he replies, voice hushed. “Look, we can stop—” but his words are cut off as he feels himself being shoved against the pillows. His shoulders hit the headboard with a crack as Jude resumes his former position wrapped around his waist, shaking his head.

“No, I need you,” he starts, amber eyes full of the same fierce determination that clouded his judgment the first time they’d done this, some time after the battle at Fort Gandala, when Jude thought he’d lose the Milla he looked up to forever. “You understand me,” he finishes, leaning over and nipping at Alvin’s neck. Pulling back, his lips crack into a small smile as he looks down at his companion with a small laugh, “Why am I always undressed first? I don’t think that’s fair.” Sliding his hands down Alvin’s abdomen to his hips, he let his tongue trace patterns against his skin as his fingers slid into the waistband of his pants, swiftly unbuckling the belt and pulling them just below his knees.

Alvin feels himself groan, from a combination of both pleasure and concession, accepting that emotionally-compromised-fucking was just something they did when it was necessary, and lets back of his head hit the frame, and finds enough resolve to wrap his fingers in Jude’s raven hair, jerking him closer to his cock. He had known from the moment Jude looked at him beneath long lashes in the restaurant of the inn that this was where this night was going to lead the both of them, but his breath still hitches in surprise when he feels he boy’s lips grace the head of his shaft.

Sliding his mouth lower, Jude tries to take in as much of Alvin as he can, but despite all his practice and research, he still feels his stomach muscles jerk violently, and does nothing to mask his reflexes, coughing when the other man bucks his hips upward, forcing him to take as much as possible.

“Still too much for you?” Alvin teases, and as punishment Jude pulls back, letting his tongue work the head, flicking over the sensitive skin of the tip, fingers digging into the other man’s hipbones, dragging downward, feeling the raised flesh beneath his fingertips.

Saliva coats the full length of Alvin’s cock as Jude suddenly finds himself caring less and less about his gag reflexes, desire fueling his actions as he moves his other hand to make small ministrations at the base of his shaft, wanting to experience and savor as much of the moment as possible. Above him, he hears harsh breathing, and the grip in his hair tightens, a non-verbal cue that his actions were acceptable to his companion.

Pushing downward on the boy’s head, he can’t help but emit a moan when he feels Jude cough around his cock, despite trying desperately to avoid the other members of their party overhearing their actions. The faster he felt the other’s mouth sliding against him, the quicker he felt himself losing control of his actions, and he thrust upward, enjoying the way he hit the back of Jude’s throat, surge of longing coursing through his body. But before he can experience the release he was so frantically craving, he feels the boy’s mouth withdraw and lets out a long groan in desperation.

“Don’t do this to me, Jude,” he pants, kicking off his pants the rest of the way, running his hands over the boy’s face, scattering reverent kisses on his lips, begging him to continue.

“Lie down,” Jude breathes, calloused hands forcing his shoulders against the pillows. He reaches over the edge of the bed to his traveling bag at the foot of the frame, grabbing a small bottle, and brings their bodies close together, returning his kisses from earlier. Keeping his knees on either side of Alvin’s hips, he flips the top open and reaches a hand between his legs, sliding a slicked finger inside of himself, mouth hovering just above the other man’s ear as he moans softly.

Alvin wraps a hand around his small waist, the other gripping his soft raven strands tightly, and his fingertips lightly graced his soft skin as he rests his hand against Jude’s, guiding his motions, feeling the boy’s movements intensify with a longing as he forced him to take more of himself, sliding another finger in, the wetness of the other’s tongue hot against his ear. He grinned up at the darkness, “I missed this kind of desperation from you,” he says, forcing the boy to take another digit, keeping the movements of his hand at an even pace, just enough to illicit the passionate whimpering he adored so much.

“I missed doing this for you,” Jude replies with a sharp inhale as he feels Alvin pull his hand away. His knees are weak, and though he feels like any attempt at moving might make him collapse, he forces himself up and kneels, positioning himself on top of Alvin’s cock.

“Er, no protection this time?” Alvin asks, gripping at the doctor’s hips and helping to guide him down without ceremony.

Leaning his body back, resting on his hands, Jude feels the man’s length sliding into him, and as his breaths become more and more labored, he feels the words “I trust you,” spill from his parted lips before he lets his guard down completely, mind fogging with desire. It wasn’t often that Jude made the decision to ride him on his own. He usually complained that it hurt too much, or that the angle never felt right, but watching the boy completely unravel on top of him was always something Alvin enjoyed witnessing.

Alvin pulls his knees up, resting the doctor’s back against legs, keeping him perpendicular on top of his body. Since the events of last year, he’d tried being more gentle when they spent time together, but the way Jude’s thighs tightly grip at his hips and his hands claw with a franticness at any available skin tell him now was not the time for such tenderness. That wasn’t what Jude needed and furthermore, it was hardly what he wanted in the darkness of their room at Marksburg Harbor, with the moonlight shining in from the open curtains, illuminating the doctor’s pale skin, head thrown back as he repeats his name over and over like a mantra, driving his body forcefully down.

Panting he looks down at his companion with half-lidded golden brown eyes, “I told you I—ah—I needed you. You can—shit—fuck me harder, Alvin. I can take it,” he moans, words louder than he probably intended, his cries of pleasure filling the walls of the small room. Nothing verbal needed to be said, no words could express how unbelievably turned on he was, hearing those harsh words coming from the usually decorous honors student, and Alvin thrust his hips upward, causing Jude to let out a small noise of surprise, cheeks flushed as he rode the other for all he was worth.

“You can act like such a whore when you want to, you know,” he breathes, gripping Jude’s hips firmly in his hands. By now, they’ve stopped caring how loud they are, or if they’ve woken anyone else up, and are wrapped in their own passions, bodies slick with sweat, pressing and grinding against one another.

Jude tries to laugh, voice coming out raspy and hoarse, gasps of air between each word, “I wouldn’t do it if you—ah, fuck—didn’t like it so much.” He can feel the burning sensation settling in his thighs from spreading his legs for so long and he loves every second of the pain. He loves every time Alvin thrusts into him, and every minute his mind was only in the present, nowhere else. Reaching a hand between his legs he starts to touch his own length and Alvin protests, but doesn’t dare stop him.

“You know how much I like watching you, you’re gorgeous,” he says, dropping his head to the pillow, driving deeper, reaching his limit faster than he expected. Jude falls forward, one hand wrapped around his cock, the other leaning against Alvin’s chest, trying to support his weight. Alvin hates how slow Jude’s touching himself, hates the throaty moans that come from his soft lips, and he doesn’t know if it was the way the boy’s lips were wrapped around him earlier—tasting, sucking, _choking_ or how pretty he is in the dim lighting of the room, but he knows he can’t last any longer. He drags his nails into Jude’s skin, grips his hips as tightly as he can, and thrusts upward, coming inside of him.

“Fuck, Jude,” he says, opening his eyes, reaching a hand to brush the long black hair from his face, strands clinging to his sweat soaked forehead.

"Is it my turn to complain?” He asks, breathing heavily.

Shaking his head, Alvin replies, “Be a good boy and get on your knees.”

Jude complies, pushing himself upright, pulling their slick, tangled bodies apart, enjoying the way Alvin still feels inside of him, sticky and messy, semen smeared between his thighs. He doesn’t know what Alvin’s going to do, but it doesn’t matter because he knows he’d never do a single thing he wasn’t comfortable with, and he values that part of their relationship. Or arrangement. He wasn’t quite sure they’d ever talked about it in the past year or so they’d been together.

Jude does as he’s told, positioning himself on his knees, waiting with his cheek pressed against the pillow, hands twisted in the comforter, still aching for release. He feels Alvin behind him, fingers tracing patterns against the skin of his back, and moans, pushing his body back impatiently. Alvin laughs and Jude is just about to protest when he feels the man’s tongue slip inside of him, pushing against his tight entrance, tasting everything he has to give. Immediately, he tenses but relaxes when he feels a soft reassuring touch against his hip.

“Fuck, I thought, I thought you hated doing this,” he moans into the down of the pillow, aware of the saliva falling from his open mouth and not caring in the slightest.

Jude’s right, Alvin doesn’t really like it. But Alvin likes Jude and if it makes him happy, there isn’t anything he wouldn’t do. He doesn’t give a reply and swirls his tongue, moving the hand gripping the boy’s hip to his cock, still hard from touching himself, and slowly slides his fingers across the shaft, pressing a thumb against the slit of the head. Alvin can taste his own semen and it doesn’t repulse him as much as he thought it would, increasing his pace until he’s able to slide a finger in alongside his tongue, other hand moving to pump his cock faster.

There’s flush spreading from Jude’s cheeks to his ears, a part of him almost embarrassed at how exposed he is, but a greater part of him loves the relentless way he’s touching and toying with him as he gasps for air, moans turning to shouts and cries of pleasure. He’s never given so much of himself to one person, and before he can dwell on the thought, he feels himself coming into the sheets, chest collapsed against the mattress, forcing his hips to stay in the air, nails clawing desperately at the headboard, _Alvin_ spilling from his lips. He feels Alvin pull away, and he drops the rest of his body, panting heavily into the pillow.

Neither of them say anything, Alvin lying next to him, one hand thrown over his forehead, the other harshly wiping at his chin and beard. Vaguely, Jude wonders what time it is and slows his breathing, reaching a hand to the nightstand to grab his GHS. He flips open the screen, wincing at the bright light and realizes he’s grabbed Alvin’s by mistake, gravure idol that looks all-too-much like Milla winking back at him in her bikini and groans, reminded of both the man’s inappropriate behavior and exactly what he’d been trying to forget in the first place. Finally his eyes adjust and the numbers 2:47 glare back at him along with a text from Leia sitting unread. Clicking the arrow keys, he opens the message picture of a frog with the text _Oh Jude, hold me tight and let’s tether all night long_ plastered over the image. He hopes she sent that earlier and neglects to check the timestamp, choosing to remain ignorant.

“Feeling any better, kid?” Alvin asks, and Jude rolls over, nodding.

“There wasn’t anything we could’ve done. I know that. It was the only way to save Elle,” he replies, leaning his face against his arm, letting the other reach out and run his fingers through the man’s brunet hair, shorter pieces framing his face. Laugh lines and the beginnings of crinkles on his forehead and around his eyes are just starting to appear, outlines shallow and undeveloped, and his five o’clock shadow has started to come in, whiskers prickling against his finger tips. Jude thinks he doesn’t look twenty-seven, but his idea of old and young is still so black and white, being barely sixteen himself.

“You know what you told me a year ago?” Alvin asks, and Jude hums lightly before the man continues, “‘She died because she wanted us to live.’ Fractured Milla or not, Milla has never been afraid to put her life on the line for others. She cared about Elle and Elle was worth protecting—it became her mission. Don’t forget about her.

“I won’t,” he replies, resting his head against Alvin’s shoulder. They stay quiet like this for some time, and Jude expects to hear the man’s deep breathing as he drifted off into sleep, but it never came. He supposed it was difficult to feel tired with a million thoughts racing back and forth, processing the problems of the world in addition to the events on board the ship. He struggles to understand their current situation, what Ludger must do for the sake of the world, and whether or not it was right to determine if a dimension should be destroyed. Whether or not it was right to decide who lived and who died. But his mind drifts elsewhere, too.

He thinks of Alvin—if he still blamed himself for Presa’s death, or if he had ever been able to forgive himself for shooting Leia. Even small mundane things, like if _this_ had a title, what was it? Or whether or not they would ever be able to find anybody else that would accept them for what they were: broken, lost, desperate for any kind of validation for their feelings.

“We should get a cat,” Alvin murmurs into the darkness, wrapping an arm lazily around Jude’s waist.

Jude snorts, “I’m a dog person, you know that.”

“I know, but we’re not home enough. Cats are pretty self-sufficient. We can, you know, just take it back and forth between our apartments or something.”

“Leia’s not going to like that. Just get a cat, I’m always over there,” he mumbles into Alvin’s skin, eyelids drooping with sleep, eyelashes fluttering closed, breathing becoming deep.

Alvin chuckles softly, idle hand playing with his black hair. It had grown out some, and he’d started tediously styling it every morning. It made him laugh, he remembered when the doctor’s look was _you’re lucky I woke up on time_ and he’d try to smooth out his raven hair to get it to lay flat against his head when it wanted to twist and wave. He was up about the same time as Alvin now, (maybe a _little_ later) fixing his hair, fussing with his clothing and appearance, pretending he had enough hair on his boyish face to warrant shaving. Sometimes Alvin wonders if he did that for him, or just because he wanted to; sometimes he wonders if Jude even cares what Alvin thinks, and sometimes he wonders if Presa was right—he’d finally found his place.

“Then just move in,” he says at last.

Jude makes a noise, “Fine.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
